Before Monday

Monday is the day. Mr. Sunshine reports to his federal prison work camp a/k/a, jail. I have spent the past few weeks doing something that is quite uncomfortable for me. It is not in my nature, not a part of my DNA.  I have been asking for help.

The first and most important item of business was to find someone to watch my girls from the time they spill out of the bus to the time I get home from doing that which supports us all.  I sent out a broadcast email to the moms in my girls brownie troop.  I expected it to take a few days to shake out, perhaps even thought I might need to go to plan B, which was the suggestion of the school guidance counselor for us to take the request to the wider school community at large.

Within 20 minutes, all arrangements were made.  Not only that, I had extra people volunteer who had to be turned away.  The girls had people fighting over who could get to keep them. When I told them what was happening, my little Warrior Princess quickly calculated the number of people who volunteered and began to set up a schedule in her mind as to how we could accommodate them all.  I realized by the look in her eyes what she was up to.  Sweetie, I said, we can't have you bouncing all over the city to a different home everyday, don't you think that would be a bit much, perhaps too confusing? Wouldn't you forget where you are supposed to be on Wednesday? She knew I was going to logic her to death on this one so she agreed we should limit it, but added, maybe we could just arrange some play dates with our other friends on the weekends?  Yes honey, of course we will. Everything will work out, before Monday.

These dear friends, angels all of them - not only stepped up to provide the specific need I requested, but they went on to come up with additional things they could do for me on their own.  "Darling, why don't I feed them dinner and drive them back to your house so you won't have to worry about that on Tuesdays", my Australian friend said with her irresistible accent.  Then another mom who will have them on Thursdays realized we have brownie meetings twice a month on Thursdays.  "Let me feed them dinner on Thursdays then drop them off at the brownie meetings for you".

The offers poured in all day, with a few dads even stepping up to the plate to ask what they could do. Keep in mind, I haven't even begun to tap into the middle school network of support for my 12 year old son and I had dads from the girls school worrying about my son, asking me if he needed someone to spend "guy" time with. My mission is clear with my son.  I am excited for the opportunity to have these next two and a half years to stabilize him.  To give him one home, one safe place - where all his stuff is.  To hold him accountable and responsible for grades, chores, being a good big brother and being responsible to his community. But I can't go hunting with him or do other things guys like to do.  He has been begging me to go paint balling. Sorry, but no.  I take enough pelts with unexpected large balls being hurled at me in life.  I'm not going to volunteer for it.

My good friends in Green Bay have offered to have us up for ice fishing this year.  We've spent the summers with them fishing off the docks but never have I imagined the concept of ice fishing. Dave is one of those men that I want to be in my son's life. He's a retired fire fighter, tough as nails but funny and tender hearted  He can be a bit of a daredevil, tempting fate with his adventures but the twists and turns in life as well as the twists and turns in his neck have slowed him down. His most recent large toy purchase was an RV, that's a good indicator how far he's come.  (Sorry Dave, you know I love you.)

After all this love, after all this support.  After asking for help so uncomfortably and getting it so unconditionally, I cried. That's all I could really do.

Before Monday, I am spending this last weekend in a Tazmanian Devil-like organizing frenzy. I'm painting new shelves, making room for all the stuff the kids had at their dad's house, giving them some separate and clearly defined spaces of their own when they need that quiet time and in general, leaving not one thing undone as I begin this stage of full time, single mom.  Organization is my key to sanity. If you ever want to know when it's time to lock me up in the padded cell, just check to see if my house is messy.  If there are any remote signs of hoarding, or even an unorganized desktop - just put me away.  Yes, I know - it's a control issue, but it feels SO good.

I have remained stoic and strong in these weeks leading up to the day my children will lose their dad.  I have envisioned the life I will make for us as a magnificent journey. I have finally, fully dealt with the loss of Zen Boyfriend, who at first seemed to be ripped away from me like a lost limb, leaving me to bleed out until there was nothing left. Now I realize he was not the man I thought he was and most certainly not the influence I would want in my children's lives at this critical time. It seemed merciless but has ended up being merciful, a great blessing to not only have him gone but to have had five months to make sense of it before Monday.

The events leading up to Monday have stripped me down to the bone, raw and fresh, deeply gouged wounds inflicted by anger, hurt, loss, anxiety and fear.  I believe I waged a war with anger and hurt and I emerged victorious.  I will no longer stare into the detestable bitter face, that was my opponent.  If I am honest, I know fear and anxiety remain, but they are buried, like the layers of the earth somewhere around the transition region. What lies on top, on the upper mantle of my internal earth structure for now, is loss. The loss of my children's father. The loss of a little part of their innocence, the loss they will feel each time they look out into the audience from the stage of a school musical and realize their dad is gone. That cannot be processed before Monday.

Time to Redecorate

It's getting cold.

Traces of fall remain but

I can smell the black, white

and gray that is winter.

Yellow remains for hope,

always hope.

And red for passion.

This is me, for now.

My Swan Song Sounds More Like Gurgling

The phrase "swan song" is a reference to an ancient belief that the swan is completely mute during its lifetime until the moment just before it dies, when it sings one beautiful song. It's not true of course, but it makes for a good expression. Today, I was supposed to be that fabled mythical creature; yet instead of a swan song, I looked and acted more like a swan diving beak first into a pool with no water. The swan would not sing a beautiful song because she was flapping her wings at the bottom of that pool with a badly damaged ego and a wretched bloody beak.

I have served in a leadership position on a particular board of directors for the past ten years. This was all volunteer work, done with my company's blessing but certainly not required. Today was my last board meeting followed my a luncheon to install the new board. It is tradition to recognize those going off the board, to say nice things about all their efforts, even when they've held their seats for years without doing much of anything important.

During my ten years on this board, I challenged the status quo, asked the board to break apart the current structure, created new committees, restructured initiatives, pulled from reserves to build and invest back into the organization, and personally recruited most of the leaders who went on to follow me, each year making us better, each year building on what I started.  I served for five years as an officer, including two terms as president.  This had not happened since 1973. It was important for me to have two years.  I needed to spend more time overseeing the implementation of the new committees and strategic plans.  I wanted to make sure the roots were firmly planted before I walked away.  It was my baby. My passion for this organization was further demonstrated by my choice to remain on the board for the next five years, until today, when I arrived ready for my swan song, ready for tears and accolades to flow.

I invited my closest friend to be my significant other.  Someone who could revel with me.  I even asked my son to attend but his work schedule prevented it.  Thank the Lord for those small blessings, I would have been mortified to have him witness my gloriously embarrassing swan dive.  As the entire 2010 board was called up to be recognized, I was expecting my moment.  They had to say something about me before they installed the 2011 board.  If they didn't, it would be too late.  So I stood there with my head in the clouds, waiting to act surprised and humbled by the good words that were surely coming my way.

I had been too busy rehearsing my speech to realize they had already transitioned to the 2011 board installation.  People in the crowd had to motion for me to sit my ass down. And just like that, it was over.

Now everybody knows I've never once been mute.  Perhaps that's why I was not given my swan song moment. I had tendencies to hog the microphone and passionately disperse my particular brand of what one of my friends referred to as "diarrhea of the mouth" at more than one event. Everybody knew it, I knew it but I was all about generating excitement.  And being a writer, excitement presents itself in me through words. Every leader that has followed me seems to be making a conscientious effort to limit their speeches, as if they are making up for all the time I babbled on and on.

I don't think it was intentional, I know and love these people and believe they would never purposefully slight me or hurt my feelings.  There is a lot to do when you're planning these big events and some things just get missed.  During my years as president, my passionate writing and love of the cause drew national attention to our little Milwaukee chapter.  We were named best of the best for those two years, competing with mammoth chapters like Chicago, Dallas and Houston.  The annual reports were written by my hand but encapsulated the excitement I felt from a passionate hard working board who had created something truly wonderful. I wasn't doing that for the recognition. I did it because I needed them as much as they needed me. I was going through my divorce. It replaced my marriage, giving me something to love, something to quell the post divorce trauma while I healed. All my talent, time, energy and passion went into this chapter because a new chapter was being written in my life. And yes, it is true what they say, in the end you get more than you give.

I received bountiful blessings in terms of personal development, confidence building, leadership training and making life long friends around the world.  I was meant to be there at that time with too much time on my hands and an ability to write and inspire those around me.  It was one of my many personal beginnings as well as the beginning of what has become a Milwaukee legacy.  We remain the brightest, shiniest star in the entire international organization.  It is my legacy, along with all those that served with me.

As soon as my bruises heal and my beak stops bleeding, I will remember that and I will sing my own personal swan song to myself.  Not just before I die, but just before I begin, yet again.

Dear Linda, Part Deux

I just checked my stat page and realized you are reading me, or spying on me, at least twice a day lately. Since we don't speak otherwise, I will address you here.

I had a wonderful session with my therapist today.  This is the therapist I found to help me deal with all that is happening to me right now, including my decision to not drink anymore.  I asked her to help me figure out why I have so much anger toward you and your son.  I don't like anger, I don't function well with hate.  I believe both will eat away at your soul and prevent you from achieving God's plan for you life.  Kind of like poisoning yourself and waiting for the other person to die.

She told me I have every reason to be angry. I'm sure your son tells you he has always taken care of his responsibilities to his children but I have a very large document and a court ordered judgment that proves otherwise. He owes me a lot of money for the things I have covered over the years.  I would love to show it to you as I'm sure you experienced much of the same with your exes. You must be able to relate and yet, your love for your son has you sitting idly by with blinders on.

I will be struggling to make ends meet while your son is in prison. I have to tell the kids we cannot have the things, do the things, we used to do.  I have to tell the girls, they will not get their orthodontics.  By the way, very mature of you to tell them their mom should just take out a loan.  The loan payment for three sets of orthodontics is $650 per month.  Exactly where do you think I will get that money? Again, I know you have seen their teeth.  This is not purely cosmetic.  They do not have room for their adult teeth to come in.

Yet, here you are, living your life, planning your vacations and expecting things to go on as normal for you. I will not stand in the way of you taking the kids to see their dad, I will give it my best to act like I have some modicum of respect for you, but I am putting you on notice - when these kids grow up and see the sacrifices I had to make, while their dad didn't pay for their medical bills, counseling and school expenses; and when they see that Grandma didn't help because she was too busy traveling, paying legal fees for their dad or saving for her retirement in Panama, then I will no longer stand up for you.

I went to my therapist today with anger and she told me it was okay to be angry.  I deserve the anger.  Yet, the anger is a mask, my mask. It's nearly Halloween after all so it seems appropriate. I can't begin to accept the fear of living in Wisconsin, with no family, trying to raise these kids to be healthy and happy and understand the most important values in life while their dad is in prison, we are struggling and there is nobody to help us.  God knows Jennifer can't stand on her own so she has to be supported by his dad - but what about us?  Where do we fit in?  Do you people think so highly of me that you know I will find a way to make ends meet or do you understand how dire this situation is, or like Troy, do you just not give a damn what happens to us?

I will have transportation arranged for Troy on the day of his release.  He will be taken to the Waukesha County jail.  My therapist gave me the courage when I told her I didn't like being a hard ass.  She said I have to do this for my kids.  I will keep him in jail as long as it takes so I suggest you get together with your family and figure out a way to help us out.  I'm not asking for full payment, just enough to help us survive while he is away.  If you don't, it will be much longer than 30 months before you see him again.  Not a threat, just reality as the court has ordered. He will pay for this crime just as sure and swiftly as he will pay for the other.

And THAT is fear, masquerading as anger. Happy Halloween.

Sorry readers, but the Zen in Zen Mama is taking a break. I am a work in progress.